Edgar Allan Poe, Han Solo, and Bruce Willis
by sydiy5bea
Summary: Because who doesn't love a Christmas story in the middle of Autumn? Nate and Sully are best bros... even if they don't know it yet. I promise the title will make sense if you stick through it.
1. Edgar Allan Poe

**And So Faintly You Came Tapping, Tapping At My Chamber Door**

I lay on my bed, chewing on the end of my pencil. _'Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'_ What a creepy poem.

I can hear Sully on the phone in the kitchen. His words are muffled by the door, but by the tone of his voice, he seems pretty angry. I would hate to be on the other end of that call. I focus my attention back to Poe and a minute or so later, I hear a knocking at my door. After a quick glance at the window to verify the absence of a certain black feathered bird, I say, "It's open."

Sully turns the knob and pushes the door inwards. "What 'cha up to?" he asks.

I clear my throat and read, "And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted—nevermore!"

"Oh." He rolls his eyes. "Poe, huh? They still make you read him? He was old when I was in school." Sully sits on the edge of the bed. "Have you read 'Telltale Heart' yet?"

"No, what's it about?"

"A guy who murders an old man, then confesses to the cops 'cause he thinks he hears the dead man's heart beating from underneath the floor boards."

"It can't be much worse than a talking raven slowly driving a man insane."

Sully chuckles, then the smile fades. "So, anyway, I just got off the phone with Justin—you remember him, right?—and he wants me to meet up with him in London to lift something from a museum up there."

My face lights up. "London? Awesome! I've always wanted to go there."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses. You're not going."

"What? Why not?"

"It's way too dangerous, Nate. I don't wanna risk you getting hurt."

"Oh, come on Sully, I'm capable of taking care of myself."

"Trust me, kid. You're not ready for this job. Not by a long shot."

"Well, what am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

"The usual."

"Which is…?"

"Go to school, hang out with friends—"

"But all my friends are leaving for winter break."

"Then read a book or something. You'll figure it out."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. When are you getting back?"

"Uh, that's the catch," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" I ask incredulously. "How do not know?"

"Justin says he doesn't know for sure when the heist will be. There are too many variables to sort through. He needs my help and he's paying more almost triple what he usually gives me."

"Will you be back in time for Christmas?"

He sighs. "Maybe…"

"What about New Year's? It's my seventeenth birthday."

Sully looks down at his hands. "Nate, listen. I don't know when I'll be back. But I promise I will try to get back as soon as I possibly can." My facial features turn to stone. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I'll call you every night at 10:00 sharp. You can do whatever you want wherever you want with whoever you want, but I want you back in the apartment by ten. Got it?"

I nod my head in confirmation, but I don't say a word. Sully says a few more things and ends with "goodnight". He leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. I lay still for a few minutes just thinking, the poem forgotten.


	2. Han Solo

I wake the next morning and pack my clothes. After I finish gathering my things, I zip up the duffel bag and leave it by the door. I glance at my watch. I still have ten minutes until I have to pull out of the driveway. Nate's door is closed when I walk up to it. I knock twice. No answer. I knock a few more times a bit louder and call his name. Weird... I press on the door handle. Locked. Dread curls in the pit of my stomach. I run to my bedroom and climb out the window onto the fire escape that connects my and Nate's room. He likes to sit on the roof when he's got something on his mind. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him leaning against someone's satellite dish. I had half expected him to have run off. "Nate, what-"

"Go away."

I frown and say, "You okay, kid?"

"What do you care?"

"If this is about me not letting you go to London, pouting is not gonna change my mind in the next ten minutes."

"Look, if you're leaving, just go already!"

I walk over and take a seat next to him, dangling my feet over the edge of the building. He doesn't even acknowledge me. "Nate," I say gently. "Talk to me. What's wrong?" No response. "I can't help you if you don't tell me anything."

It's silent for a few seconds. I'm about to say something else, but Nate speaks before I can. "My dad told me he would come back for me. It was the last thing he said before he left." He pauses. "At least you came to say goodbye."

I sigh. "This is different, kid."

"'Different'?" He sits up and turns to face me. A fire burns in his eyes. "'Different'? How the hell is this any different?"

"The difference is I'm actually coming back." The fire is subdued a little. He wears the anger as a mask. Beneath, I see the fear of being left behind again. The fear of being alone. He's growing up so fast, sometimes it's hard to remember he's still just a kid. But not just any kid. He's a kid who's been abandoned, beaten (as much literally as figuratively), and any other terrible thing you can think of. He's seen it all. It's my job to reverse all those years of abuse. As of now, I'm all he's got. And, in a way, he's all _I've_ got.

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" Nate asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"Because we're friends," I say. "Friends don't leave friends behind."

A flash of something flickers in his eyes, but he turns his head before I can get a good read of his emotions. "Yeah, whatever," he mutters.

I can't think of anything else to say, so I stand up and say, "I'll call you tonight." I climb down the fire escape to grab my keys and bag. I am about to open the car door when I hear something drop to the ground behind me. We're gonna half to work on stealth when I get back. "Wait!" calls a familiar voice over the sound of converse slapping the concrete.

I put down my bag when I see he's making no effort to slow down. He skids on his heels a split second before he wraps his arms around me. "Wow, you're getting stronger," I grunt.

"I'm sorry," he says, stepping back.

"No, no, it's fine. It's normal to develop more muscle mass at your age."

"No, I meant I'm sorry for the way I treated you. You're my friend. Actually, you're more than a friend, you're my best friend and I've never trusted anyone more than you. I know you won't leave me."

I can't help but smile at Nate's earnest ramblings. "Ditto, kid."

"Just do me a favor and come back in one piece, okay?"

"Oh, come on. Do you really think they'll be able to kill me?" I ask, jokingly. "I'm Victor Goddamn Sullivan."

"'Don't get cocky'," Nate quotes in his best Han Solo impression (which isn't very good, by the way).

I put a hand on his head and rustle his hair good naturedly. "I've taught you well, young padawan." Wow, I wasn't kidding when I said he was getting bigger. He's almost as tall as me now. Almost.

I look at my watch and stoop down to pick up my duffel bag. "I've gotta get going, kid. I'll be back soon. I promise."


	3. Bruce Willis

The phone rings as I crunch on potato chips, watching TV. I glance at the phone's screen and I see Sully's name. I answer, "What's up?"

"Nothing. What about you, Nate?"

"Nate? Who's that? This is Jerry from Radio Shack down the street."

"Nice try, kid."

"Thanks, but I wasn't trying."

"Oh, of course you weren't."

I pause and then say, "So any word on when you're getting back?" I ask him this almost every night.

"You miss me that much, huh?"

"You wish. But honestly, sooner is better. I mean, _Die Hard_ is not the same without your constant commentary."

"I'll be home soon," he says, ignoring my dig.

"Well, that's extremely vague and non-confrontational. How soon is 'soon'?"

"Nate, just trust me on this. You sound tired."

"Hey, quit trying to change the subject," I say through a yawn.

"Get some sleep, kid. It'll do you some good."

"You can't tell me what to do if you're not here. I'm going to bed on my own accord, not because you told me to."

"Doesn't matter to me. You're still going to bed which makes me look like a good mentor."

"Me being home alone on Christmas Eve watching _Die Hard_ shows a lot about your mentoring skills."

"Don't make me ground you, young man."

We laugh and I say, "Yeah, whatever, _old man_. I'll see you around."

"Alright, see you soon."

After hanging up, I yawn again and stretch my legs. The scene ends (the one where Bruce Willis walks barefoot over glass… talk about _balls_ … of your feet) and I pause the movie to put my bowl of chips by the sink. I figure I'll clean it out in the morning. I'm already in my pajamas so I hop under the covers and curl up to produce more body heat. Sleep alludes me like it usually does, since my mind takes forever to settle down. My eyelids become too heavy to prop up and I'm out.

The next morning, my eyes flutter open in the early sun. I've never really understood why the sun changes colors at different times of the day. Maybe God was trying to impress a girl when he created sunrises and sunsets. They seem to work wonders for Sully anyway.

The room contains the delicious aroma of freshly baked pastries. I take a deep breath and sigh, "Merry Christmas, Nate."

Wait, what? Pastries? I swing my feet over the edge of my bed and stand up, curling my toes against the cold floor. The scent grows stronger in the hallway. When I round the corner and look into the living room, I freeze. In the center of the room is a huge, decorated Christmas tree. My face lights up as I watch the lights twinkle, light bouncing off the gold and silver ornaments. How'd it get there? Santa?

The smell of sugary icing lures me into the kitchen. My heart nearly stops when I see Sully sitting at the table. A smile lights his face and he says, "I told you it'd be soon."

"Sully!" I yell, then I run towards him. He opens his arms and envelops me in his embrace. "You son of a bitch, you told me you wouldn't be back for Christmas."

"I wasn't going to, but I felt really bad about leaving you by yourself. No one should be alone on Christmas."

"How'd you get out of the job?"

"I just left. Some things are more important than money, kid."

I step back and give him a wry smile. "Victor Sullivan thinks about something other than money?"

"I was talking about you, Nate."

"I know, I just wanted to hear you say it," I laugh. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Yeah, I actually found myself longing for your company."

"'Longing'?"

"Geez, give me a break. I've been up all night traveling and setting up that damn tree."

"And you got donuts!"

"Yeah, here." Sully hands me a bag from Dunkin Donut's.

"You did all this for me?" I ask, sniffing the bag's contents.

"Of course, kid. That's what friends do." He rustles my hair. "You'd better be planning on sharing those," he says, referencing the donuts.

"Uh, now I am."

"Oh, before you get your hands all sticky, you've got to put the star on the tree."

"Me?" I ask excitedly. "I get to put the star on top?"

"Yup, come on, let's do this quickly. I'm starving."

We walk into the living room and Sully reaches behind the couch. The star he pulls out is not much to speak of, but I don't care. The fact that he left the job to be with me is enough to make me like a kid on Christmas day (pun intended). "Give me a boost?" I ask.

"Yeah, jump up." He lets me climb onto his back and I carefully place the star on the top branch. I hop off and we admire our work. "Awesome," I whisper.

Sully claps me on the back. "Merry Christmas, Nate."


End file.
